


The Lovers' Memories

by TheHungryStark



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHungryStark/pseuds/TheHungryStark
Summary: Two souls long since parted admit strife and fate, recall the events which lead to their love. WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR VOLUME 6.





	1. Chapter 1

The night was quiet and peaceful in the land of darkness. Once, a god ruled here. Then, a king of light and a queen of darkness raised their children here. Now, the queen rules alone, working to mankind's destruction.

Beneath the bed covers, the Mistress of all Grimm held a small, black dog in her hands. It had been stitched together by the hands of a child. Her child. The red ribbon around its neck wouldn't fade, even after all these centuries. She'd ensured that.

"You're looking well, my dear."

Her first instinct was to summon a fireball and destroy him. But she suppressed it. She'd learned how ineffective that was centuries ago.

It was a routine by this point. He'd arrive at random intervals, unannounced, with no warning, and berate her, in the same, fatherly demeanor he'd used on her as a girl. She'd tried to ignore it, every single time.

Then she felt his hand grab her by the chin and forcibly twist her head so she was looking right into that dark, hateful eye.

"How many times have I told you not to look away from me?!"

"I've lost count, father."

He didn't slap her this time. Sometimes he would. In life, he'd once had an entire village burned to the ground because the elders had called him Smiter. Not out of malice, but to prove them right. Those who had disrespected him had been dealt far worse. She remembered their screams deep beneath the castle, in places so dark, so cold, not even the Grimm tread there. When their corpses had been brought to light...she wished she couldn't remember. But the moment he'd learned she blocked it from memory, he'd recounted it all in tender detail.

His ghost chuckled and released her. "Oh, Salem. You've no idea how proud I am of you."

She froze, then began gritting her teeth. "Don't-"

"Oh come, come now. You know I'm not lying. That will of yours, that mighty will to manipulate the gods themselves has kept you going since Ozma died the third time. And where did you get it?"

Balor the Smiter was grinning from ear to ear, eye blazing red. His other remained closed shut, as it had been since her mother cut it out. His helmet with a single visor slit was clasped under one arm, and it too seemed to be mocking her.

"From the woman who took your eye."

"Ha! That weak-willed bitch?" He touched the massive scar on his face and grimaced. Withdrawing it, he placed it upon the hilt of his ax blade. "We both know she was insane."

"Because of you," Salem spat.

"By this point, we have so very little to discuss," Balor lamented, "we've fought back and forth about my 'failings' as a 'father' for centuries now."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because watching you suffer brings me joy. Not even my death at Ozma's hands could ever stop that. And a good thing too. What was it she said?" Balor smirked devilishly. "The brat you made that doll? The one you've held onto and tended with the same care you once gave her?" He pretended to think for a few moments before coming to a realization. "'No, mommy! Please stop! Don't hurt daddy!'" Balor laughed heartily. Clutching his stomach, he wiped away a tear with his finger. Once he settled, he looked her right in the eye. His expression was completely dull. Not as one who had just suffered a lobotomy, but devoid of all emotion. "Then she died. By the hands of her own parents. I still remember her face at that moment."

The tears were forming despite Salem's best attempts to hold them back. She scowled before looking away. "Stop it."

He slammed his foot down, hard. "Never command me, girl. You served as a beacon for so many foolhardy heroes to try and test their mettle against me. They struggled and failed at every turn, laid low by my mere gaze. Their weapons littered my castle, proof of my might, my will. Now, you're nothing more than a beacon of evil. My evil. My own cruel desires and whims are drawn to you and you alone. Now, as I was saying, I could tell how much she had to say on her face just by looking at it. And she justed wanted to say one word."

There was a stretch of silence as Balor let the magnitude of that settle. She knew this was his favorite. Out of every tragedy she'd suffered, this one gave him the most pleasure. And, above all else, she hated him for it the most.

"'Why?'"

"You've had your fun, father. Now leave me be."

"Do you know what Ozma is doing right now? Or Ozpin, Oscar, Ozymandias, whatever his name might be. More likely than not, working towards your destruction. Now, we can't have that. With you gone, my reason to stay in this world and escape the next will be gone. Please do ensure he is stopped, once and for all this time. When the gods return, however, I would dearly wish to see his face as mankind is destroyed for all time. Decisions, decisions..."

"Just. Go."

"I would punish you for talking back, but sad to say, I feel I must do so. Perhaps I could check in on that honest soul of his? Your...he, replacement?"

She turned sharply, teeth bared, but he was gone. All he could hear was his mocking laughter.

Damn her father. Damn him to every single hell that might exist.

Sleep had taken her soon after. And through that sleep, she found herself back in the tower. Before her was a mirror, one of her few connections with the outside world. It was a gift from a faraway kingdom, one her mother had visited before Balor's evil was revealed and burned her alive.

She missed her mother. Her smiles and grace had been exemplary. She had written such wonderful poems. Salem knew she would see her if she just glanced out the window. See her rotting head mounted on the castle walls, her crown crooked and snapped atop her head as birds pecked at her eyes. When Salem first saw it, the face had seemed to be trapped in an eternal scream. As if she could feel every stabbing beak or nibbling rat crawling on her face.

Father had done far worse to her before that. Whatever servants came by to give her food had only given her small details, rumors. "Lord Balor has ordered a cauldron of hot wax brought to the dungeons. No, princess, Her Majesty shall not be released."

Salem had learned long ago dreams were but fragments of memories. Her nightmares tended to be made from ones such as this.

Why this one? she wondered. For someone as old as herself, it was simple to know the difference between sleep and the waking hours. Whenever she slept after one of her father's visits, her dreams were often significant in some way. What was so-

When the door suddenly barged open to reveal her father, his black armor fresh and glistening in the sunlight, she understood.

"My dear," he said, his voice echoing deeply. "I have some very, very special news for you."

Salem recalled tensing when he said that. She dreaded his visits.

"Yes, father?"

"You have a suitor."

Salem brightened. She'd long thought of marriage - in that time, she thought herself destined to be used as a pawn in one - and now, it was right in front of her. At that moment, she realized something.

In the bounds of love, she would be free.

"Would you like to meet him?"

Salem had nodded eagerly, expecting for a tall, dashing man to come into the room. He'd sweep her off her feet, and they'd ride away into sunset, happy and side by side until they ended their days.

"Bring him in," Balor said smoothly. The sound of heavy armor boots marching in time at first gave her hope until she realized the military precision driving them. Something was wrong.

Balor stepped aside from the door as two of his soldiers entered Salem's room. They carried a large wooden trunk between them. Balor's single eye watched her through his visor, studying her every expression. His guards heft the trunk so that it was facing her. As they did, she heard something wet jostled about.

No, she thought, father, you didn't-

"Open it. My daughter wishes to see her suitor."

His soldiers had been conditioned to obey his every order. They did so.

The first thing Salem saw was the crown. It was made of gold and silver, rubies and emeralds held within its frame that surely would have sparkled on the brightest of days, were it not for the blood staining them. A human head was underneath it, frozen in shock and horror. Both eyes were gone, leaving only black, empty holes. Her father had a strange obsession with eyes. That was to be expected. However, the various dismembered body parts crammed into the trunk had been -

"He tasted...queer," Balor mused. "I have always been curious as to what human flesh tasted like. Perhaps if I find other means of preparing it, the flavor will be improved?"

"What have you done?"

Balor sharply turned to her when she spoke. "I beg your pardon?"

"Father, what have you done?" Salem couldn't find it within herself to express her horror. She couldn't scream, she couldn't burst into tears. She could only ask that one, simple question.

"Salem, I've killed and eaten this man. What does it look like? Still, you are a lowly woman-"

"Father, was he a prince?"

Balor stopped now and seemed thoughtful beneath his helmet. "Come to think of it, I believe he was. He and a group of riders from one of our neighbors came galloping up, armed in case of an ambush. When I learned this boy wished for your hand, I decided to give them my answer."

"You slaughtered and devoured a prince, father. This can only end in war."

Balor burst out in joyous laughter when she said that. "Oh, my dear Salem. I know it will. That's why I've ordered my armies to mount a full-scale invasion. Burn this wretch's kingdom to the ground. Even as we speak, my generals are preparing to cross the border with over fifty thousand of my finest troops. I'll send this" - he gestured to the trunk - "with them, as a gift for their king, whoever he is. I just haven't thought of a message to accompany it."

"Why?"

Balor froze and glared into Salem's very soul. "What?"

"Why are you so...so cruel?"

Balor removed his helmet, revealing his bald and scarred face. "Cruel? Yes, I am indeed cruel. As to why? It's simple. I indeed to mark my legacy upon this world in blood. For centuries, people will speak of me. How Balor the Smiter killed all who stood before him and indulged in the most obscene atrocities. How he left mountains of corpses at the shrines of gods and laid low the helpless with his blade. How all who dared raise arms against him were forced to watch as their loved ones were skinned alive before boiling wax was poured into their screaming mouths. Infants tossed in the rivers and women thrown from the highest mountains, their newborns held to their chest in a vain effort to protect them from being dashed upon the rocks. How I dismembered this prince who wished to marry you and then consumed his flesh before destroying his kingdom. Surely you understand, my dear daughter, that no one would ever forget such cruelty, not until the very end of this world?" Once he finished speaking, Balor smiled tenderly.

It was in that moment Salem truly understood just what a monster her father was. What he'd always been. She'd heard whispers of all those things, but to hear him admit it confirmed what her mother had once said to her.

"Your father will be the death of you one day. My dear, you must be ready for when it comes."

However, looking back, Salem had come to see it as something else as well.

For on that day, Balor had sealed his fate. It would be this despicable act which finally made him come to stop this reign of terror.

The great hero of justice. Her love. Her champion.

The invincible Ozma.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: I gotta figure out how to do formatting in this.

"Balor is a madman. He must be stopped."

General Nuada looked around the room at the assembled men and women around him. Ozma gripped his staff firmly, his brave smile never leaving.

Nuada began pacing. He was a lean man, with long, silver hair and amber eyes. He, Ozma and the others, the men and women who formed the Grand Alliance, were in a very spacious hall, torches and a brewing fire illuminating every nook and cranny. When he resumed speaking, there was an iron in his voice not unworthy of a king. "We have all heard the stories of his evil. Of his many crimes, in the eyes of both gods and men. How many villages has he plundered and sacked and burned? Too many. Far too many. I myself would go but my last encounter with his forces has left me at a disadvantage." He glanced at his stump of a shoulder, where Balor had torn off the arm with his bare hand.

"But now that monster seeks to march upon Danu itself. A kingdom which has maintained a peaceful existence. My spies tell me Balor plans an unprovoked attack with over fifty thousand soldiers in total, intending to raise the kingdom to the ground. We still have no word on what happened to Prince Cian, who had intended to bring Princess Salem out from her father's clutches. I can only assume he now lies dead in an open field."

There were murmurs among the crowd. No one believed Prince Cian was alive, not if he entered Tor Mor hoping to marry Balor's daughter. Even armed and prepared for battle hadn't been any assurance.

"However," Nuada continued, "this doesn't mean we are helpless. Far from it. I have already begun sending ravens to bring together the other kingdoms and forge an army able to march upon Dun Bhalair and bring Balor to justice."

They cried out as one voice, hands raised high in solitude.

Yes, Ozpin remembered it all. He was dreaming again. It had taken him a few seconds to realize that, and given how utterly fragmented this felt - he couldn't exactly remember the faces of the people around him, thought Nuada's was always very distinct - he was sure this was meant to revolve around him somehow.

But of course, it did. This was the moment when he had been the one chosen to finally stop Balor.

And, in the process, free Salem.

So many times he wondered, armed with the benefit of hindsight, if it had been the right choice. Should he have freed her, knowing the disasters that would come after?

But every time he did, he squashed those questions underfoot. No one should have had to suffer under a man such as Balor. Through every lifetime he had, Ozpin considered Balor the evilest thing he had ever known. Had it not been for him, he fully believed Balor would have one day eaten Salem. His recent exploration of cannibalism had left a deep scar when Ozma learned of it.

I'm awake, Ozpin suddenly realized. Didn't even notice waking up.

He sighed, sitting up in his bed. In he was still in Beacon Academy, in his own private quarters. It was within a minute's walk of the clocktower. His bed was large and spacious, with plenty of room for more than one person.

"I shouldn't have bought this bed," he murmured, for gods-knew what time. He always seemed to buy them. Was it some compulsive need to have a kind of...what? He didn't know if there was a word for this kind of want.

He wanted to share this bed with her. Not the monster she'd become but the woman he'd saved so long ago.

The woman who he'd raised four daughters with.

He blinked, and raised a finger to his face, tenderly wiping away a single tear. He got up from the bed and began pacing. Finally, he turned to the shelf next to his bed. Walking over gingerly, he braced himself once again. He'd done this several times, and even if the pain dulled after a while, it still hurt.

On the shelf was a locket, with a lid made from green crystal. He plucked it off with practiced care and used his thumb to flick it open.

Inside, he saw a family. There were four small, happy girls. His children. The oldest, Brigid, was dressed in her favorite blue dress. Her eyes were as bright and intelligent as they had been in life. He remembered reading her books of great heroes, and her, in turn, reading to him from tomes on history. She'd been so patient, so kind...

Ostara came next, such an energetic child. She loved the flowers and animals. He remembered her begging for a puppy, so much so he finally helped her make one out of cloth and cotton. She'd loved that doll, pretended to feed it and play with it. All to prove she was responsible enough to care for a real dog.

June and Tara had always been inseparable from each other, running around the castle and laughing as they played tag or pretended to be dragons. Sometimes he had trouble recalling exactly what games they actually did play. But they had always been such fun-loving young girls, working together to play pranks on either their siblings or parents.

And there, in the back, were those parents. His very first reincarnation, standing next to her. His beloved wife. Even infected by the darkness of Grimm, she'd still held onto that love for him.

Until the night he finally decided enough was enough. That the wars of conquest and slaughter were not the way. That mankind should not be replaced. It was the first, and last, time his daughters saw their parents fight.

He had painstakingly recreated this miniature from memory. It was the only thing he had to remember them by.

His four beautiful, magical daughters.

Out of everything he'd lost, they stung most deeply.

But Salem?

The pain he felt because of her was...strange. He knew she had to be stopped. Her plan was to eliminate all mankind. He couldn't let her. It was that simple. But he still remembered her before she'd become a monster. When she was imprisoned in that tower, and the nights they had spent together, wrapped in each other's arms. Her laughter and that majestic smile. So unlike what her father had tried to mold her into.

Until...he shook his head before closing the locket. "That's in the past." Sadly, he'd learned long ago the past tends to linger.

He would never forget the first time he saw her, either.

He had infiltrated Dolorous Guard in disguise, the only one brave enough to do so. He had seen first hand the aftermath of Balor's lust for violence. The villages burned, the children murdered, the flayed skins adorning his private chambers. He could have slit his throat while he slept and be done with it, but no. There would have been no honor or justice in such an act.

His plan had been simple. To free Salem, foment distrust and ignite a rebellion against the tyrant. It would have been easy enough. Balor's foolishness was already uniting people against him. His murder and cannibalism of Prince Cian, when it was made known not only Danu but many of the other kingdom, had been the last straw. After that, nearly every neighboring kingdom had joined forces to crush him once and for all. All Ozma had to do was start the rebellion with Balor's own stronghold.

He had never meant to fall in love with Salem. But his devotion to justice drove him to free her. He had visited her, in the guise of a lowly servant. Balor had given strict instructions that only he may speak with his daughter, but it was an unenforceable rule.

Salem had been sitting by her window, gazing out her window. Ozma had heard rumors of her beauty. He had expected it. What he had not expected were her eyes. They were so sad and lonely, yet devoid of any cruelty. For anyone raised by a monster like Balor, he would have believed them the spitting image. But when he had accidentally spilled the wine, she had offered to wipe it up herself, then did so with her own dress.

"My Lady," he had said, "there is no need-"

"It's fine," she had replied, smiling at him. "We'll keep it a secret. Father's punishments for any kind of incompetence are always far too cruel." Then she had turned back to the window, staring sadly.

For a moment, he had turned to leave, but something had made him stay. He felt drawn to her, not as a soulmate, but as someone in need of a friend.

"My Lady," he said, bowing low, "may I ask what you are doing?"

She had been startled. Then her face softened. "Just looking," she said softly.

"May I?" Ozma asked gently.

"May you...?" Salem raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Join you?"

Salem seemed unsure for a moment, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's just...you seem so lonely here."

"You are aware of what my father does to those who disobey him?"

Ozma had nodded. "I'll take my chances."

Then she had laughed. And Ozma swore he had never heard something so beautiful in all his life. He still did, even to this day.

When she turned back to the window, however, her face became somber again. Curious, Ozma looked out as well, following her gaze and seeing her mother's head. The head of Queen Cethlenn. The hair had been torn off in clumps by now, at the request of Balor's concubines. Some, evidently, hoped that having them as decorations would win them favors with the blood-thirsty warlord. As Ozpin recalled, Balor had just been amused.

"I'm so sorry," Ozma had said, "for what happened to your mother."

Salem hadn't even looked at him when he said that, only continued to stare, with that same somber expression.

"How long has she been there?"

"Weeks." That was all she had said in answer.

When Ozma tenderly placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, she tensed for a few moments. Ozma was about to withdraw it when her own reached up and held it. Ozma couldn't help smiling when she did.

They stayed like that for a few moments, in silence. Then finally, Salem released him and met his gaze. Even after all these years, he still couldn't forget how tender her eyes had been.

"I think you should leave," she admitted, "before my father finds you."

"Of course," Ozma said quickly, drawing back his arm. He turned to leave and was about to open the door when she had stopped him again.

"Wait," she had asked softly, "your name. I would like to know it."

At that moment, Ozma knew if he told her his entire mission would be in jeopardy. He may have only just met her, but could he honestly trust her not to tell her father? She had been so kind, though, at least, nothing like he would have expected from Balor's child.

Still...

"For now," he said, smiling warmly, "you may call me Oz."

Now, she calls me her enemy, Ozpin noted as he returned to the present. He had somehow come into possession of his favorite mug, which was filled with black coffee, still hot. It wasn't unexpected, almost like a clockwork routine. He had a dream, made from the fragmented memories of his first life, he felt troubled, and he made himself some coffee. He took a sip, savoring the scalding it left on his tongue. He was used to it, helped bring him to his sense.

To occupy himself, he decided to review the students who would be coming to Beacon this year. Taking out his scroll, he placed it on his table and began trailing his finger across it, observing each young face that appeared intently.

Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl. Ah yes, a champion of the arena several times over. She'd make a fine Huntress, however, Ozpin hoped she would agree to his designs.

I am planning on turning her into the new Fall Maiden, he reminded himself grimly. It could wipe away who she is...

He sighed, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind for later pondering. He had already made several sacrifices in this unending war. Pyrrha, hopefully, would not be another. She'd be something more.

Then he came to the boy who had forged his papers. A young, idealistic fellow named Jaune Arc. He smiled as he remembered the Arcs who had fought alongside him in the Great War. Brave, strong men, all of them, willing to fight for justice.

All gone now. More people he had murdered, all because he'd been a fool for love. Love that had stopped him from ending the monster Salem had become.

Then again, how was he supposed to? Someday soon, he hoped he would figure it out.

And finally, kill this monster he had become.


	3. Chapter 3

Salem listened attentively to Watts report. Cinder had acquired part of the Fall Maiden's power - involuntarily, she remembered Tara's soft smile - but had been attacked by Qrow Branwen, preventing them from taking the rest.

"Amber has most likely been taken to Beacon," Watts finished.

"Ozpin's lair," Hazel growled, a noticeable edge to his voice when he said the name of his sister's killer. "He's hiding her away somewhere to recuperate."

"No," Salem said, shaking her head. "The Fall Maiden had been drained of half her power. Such a process would place a great strain on the body and soul."

"So, what has become of the young Maiden?" Tyrian giggled.

Salem was about to dwell on that when she felt a familiar chill. She sighed, rising from her seat. The three men around her followed suit, but the glances exchanged between Hazel and Watts left no doubt they suspected something was wrong. Arthur had probably picked up on the subtle tension in her limbs.

"We shall discuss that later," she said coolly, "for now, you are all dismissed. Soon, Beacon shall fall and the Relic of Choice shall be ours."

They left her alone, to do who knew what. Everyone had a hobby, and evidently, her father's spirit was showing up at random.

"Loyal servants," he remarked as he stepped into the room, materializing from almost nothing. He didn't have his helmet with him this time. "A fine thing for anyone to have. However, a little discipline would do them some good."

"You and I have very different interpretations of that word," Salem said coldly.

"Which one?" Balor smirked at her, before chuckling as his spirit walked around the room. He turned from her, looking outside at the former land of the God of Destruction. The small twitch of his finger made Salem smile. He was still jealous, the pathetic rat. A god had once lived here, and another had taken his place - only, it wasn't him.

"You already know," Salem said, taking a seat. "Tell me, when will you get bored of these visits?"

"When I see either you or Ozma broken and dead. Hopefully, both, while mankind burns and the animals are butchered."

"How you ever managed to remain in this world even after your death, I have long since decided not to learn. After all, look what has become of you."

Balor turned sharply to her, glaring. "I am your father and you will-"

"My father?" Salem scoffed. "Please. You were insistent that simply because we were related by blood, you owed me not an ounce of respect. But whenever I disrespect you now, you turn around and adopt the complete opposite position."

"Your point?!" Balor pouted. Salem rolled her eyes.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that either," she said.

"I should have done worse to my granddaughters," he growled, causing Salem to narrow her eyes at him, "I dearly wish I could have skinned them alive."

He was, of course, referring to when he first manifested as a spirit. It was a night that she'd never forget.

"Mommy," Brigit had said in a hushed whisper, "I had a nightmare."

Salem had been reading letters from her generals about the conquest of Remnant when her daughter had come into the room. Ozma was attending to the diplomatic side of the wars and thus wasn't present for this conversation. Salem had decided not to tell him of it, and given his later betrayal, she knew it had been the right choice.

"Come here," Salem said, smiling as she set down the letter and gestured for Brigit to come to her. She did, but she wouldn't stop looking over her shoulder. She stopped directly next to her, looking up with eyes full of pure terror.

That had given Salem pause. She had never seen such pure terror in any child's eyes. Seeing it in her own daughter's, she had felt something primal. A drive to ensure Brigit never felt it ever again.

"Tell me about this nightmare," Salem said, stroking Brigit's hair.

"It was dark," Brigit began, "and the moon wasn't broken. I was in a castle and could hear Tara, Ostara, and June. I tried to follow their voices, but I couldn't find them anywhere."

"What did this castle look like?" Salem asked, looking deeply into her daughter's eyes. "Did you see anything decorating the walls?"

A shudder passed over Bridgit before she answered. "Well...there were...things. Hanging on the wall...they looked like...well..." Brigit held up her hand and pinched the skin of it between her fingers. "Like people's skin but with...nothing inside them."

Salem's eyes widened. She had seen the very same thing in father's castle whenever he allowed her to have a quiet walk. He had wanted to show her his 'trophies'. He often lamented not being able to bring along the corpses filled to the brim with wax, or sometimes, molten gold. Salem had never cared for that. She had enjoyed those walks when they weren't focusing on his pointless cruelty and more about bonding between father and daughter.

"Anything else?" she asked hurriedly.

"Well...I tried to find my sisters...they were screaming and crying...I'm sorry mother, you always said I'm supposed to watch over them, but I wasn't able to...he was chasing me..."

"Who?" Salem interrupted heart racing. "Who was?"

Brigit's lip quivered, as she tried to summon the strength to tell her mother. "He wore black armor...he didn't have any hair and was missing an eye...he called me bad names, said he would eat me alive and make my sisters watch...and he said...he said..."

"What?" Salem whispered, face drawn back in disbelief.

"That he was our grandfather. And he hated you. That he'd eat us one by one after cutting off our arms and legs, but make sure we all lived to see him take away your and father's skins, then he'd burn us all alive but save you for last."

Salem had listened to this with mute horror, and Brigit could see it. Her daughter had come hoping her mother would protect her, but to see her scared after explaining the whole adventure...

"How are your sisters?"

Bridgit sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"Bridgit, where are they?!"

"They had the same nightmare." she answered quietly, "None of us want to go back to sleep. If we do...grandfather will get us..."

Salem stood up, taking her daughter's hand. Wordlessly, they went to find her other daughters. All the while, Salem had been reeling from this revelation.

How? How could her father still be in this world? The gods hadn't allowed Ozma to return to preserve their 'balance' but what was so different about her father?! What kind of power could have done this?!

When she found June, Tara, and Ostara, they had been hiding together under a blanket, shaking. The moment she opened the door and pulled back the blanket, they had first shrunk back, as if expecting some monster, but that had lasted only a second.

She cradled each and every one of them in her arms as they sobbed, whimpering about their grandfather and how he was going to eat them.

Salem remembered that part very vividly.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said to her father, now back in the present, "you started eating brains before your demise, correct?"

Balor snorted. "What of it?"

"Well, now I know why you began hallucinating," Salem replied, smirking. "It's amazing what modern medicine can do. For example, do you know what happens to someone who consumes human flesh? Specifically, the brain? You increase your prion count. And by doing so, some of the cells in your brain begin functioning incorrectly. You develop holes in the brain and your mind begins to deteriorate. You become forgetful and have seizures. Within six to twelve months, you die."

Balor's single eye widened as she recounted symptoms he himself had experienced. Directly after he became a cannibal. "I was a good king once," he spat out when she finished. "I forged a kingdom of strength and valor."

"Which was destroyed because you ate a prince who wanted my hand. I have seen many promising rulers start off remarkable before going insane and leaving their lands a wreck. But none of them come close to my own father. You did forge a kingdom and within your own lifetime, sealed its fate. I am aware most go mad from power, as you did, but none ate a prince and then tried to wipe out his kingdom. But you seriously didn't think anything would happen. That there would be no consequences?"

"I would have won!" Balor declared, "I would have crushed all you opposed me! My power was able to level the mountains at a glance!"

"But your mind was dulled by it. Ironic. The stronger you became, the more your wits died."

"Wits?" Balor scoffed, "I needed none. Power is all that matters."

"And that didn't bring you victory." Salem pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, but kept her gaze on her father's ghost. "Have you anything else to say?"

"Yes. Why didn't you go mad?" Balor smirked, pacing towards her. "You have often taken pride in your will, the one you claim your mother gave you. Yet I still drove her mad. So, how did you not? Perhaps...you already are?"

At the mention of her mother, Salem involuntarily recalled one of her most cherished memories.

It had been on her tenth birthday when Balor's madness first began to settle in. On that day, he had ridden out to deal with some bandits but ended up burning two villages. The moment her mother had learned of this, she had confronted him, demanding he explained his actions. Whatever her father had said, however, it had driven her mother to do something drastic.

She had given her something. A jewel, one which Salem had held onto until she had finally been freed. Mother had been very clear it would protect her from all harm as long as she held onto it.

Unfortunately, the passage of time distorted the memories she tried to cherish, yet her father's spirit made every effort to preserve the ones she wished to discard. All she truly remembered of that time was her mother had given a jewel which protected her from all harm as long as it was hers. She didn't remember what had become of the jewel or how it had protected her. Perhaps if she hadn't discarded it, it would have protected her from the gods' curse? After all, she longed since realized it had kept her mind safe from the worst of her father's actions, preserving her sanity in that hell. How, she didn't know, but it had. As she herself had learned, a mother's love was a powerful thing.

Of course, she would never tell her father that. One little victory for her mother, making sure Balor would never know how a woman had bested him.

If only she could remember those lovely poems.

"Well?!" Balor shrieked, grinding his teeth.

"I'll tell you when you explain why your spirit still lingers in this world."

Balor only glared at her, before turning around. Ah yes, like the pouting child he was, he was so angry he wouldn't even look at. "Fortunately, I must soon go," he muttered.

Finally, Salem thought, rolling her eyes. Thank goodness her father hadn't caught her when she vulnerable, like last time.

"Before I do, I have one more question," he said softly, and this time when he looked at her, she saw the smallest amount of pleading in his eye. Curious, she decided to take the bait. She'd wondered when he would finally be reduced to this, and now it had finally happened.

"What is it?"

"Oh dear," he said, then the pleading was gone and he was back to his old self, "seems I must go now." And so he left.

Salem sighed. At some point, she would have to figure out how to send his spirit to the afterlife and remove this distraction. If she could just learn how.

But that was a for another time. Right now, she had other things on her mind, such as her daughters.

More than once, she had imagined what life would have been like if Ozma had only listened to her and forsaken the gods who had cursed her, cursed them, and instead embraced her vision of a world where they were gods. Her daughters would have grown and become goddesses like them, fine young women who she never stop being proud of. But of course, like the coward he was, Ozma had let his fear of the Two Brothers override any love for their family. When he tried to take their children away from her, that was when she had seen him for what he was - no longer the man she had loved before, but a traitor to everything she had stood for. That he had fought for.

And that was something she would never forgive. Not when it had cost the lives of her children.


End file.
